


Saturdays With Spot

by Nyssa



Series: Bay City Border Collie [2]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bringing up baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturdays With Spot

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of the Bay City Border Collie series.

I don’t tell Hutch about it, but sometimes I dream about running.

Running down streets, through alleys, up and down long flights of stairs. My heart pounds, my breath comes really hard and fast without catching. I sweat, but it’s not like I’m exhausted. I love it. I never was a jogger like Hutch, never really understood what he meant by a “runner’s high.” I used to think he was kinda nuts, if you wanna know the truth. Gettin’ up at oh-dark-thirty just to gallop around the streets and wear out who knows how many perfectly decent pairs of sneakers.

But now I can kinda see his point. Maybe you don’t really know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Not that I can’t still run. It’s just tougher now, and I can’t do it without my chest starting to hurt.

Then again, I don’t have to anymore.

This morning I had one of those dreams. I woke up from it suckin’ in air, gasping like I’d really just chased a perp across half of Bay City, and that hitch caught me hard. I lay there a minute with my eyes closed, letting my heart slow down. I was tingling all over. I mean _all_ over. I guess my dick didn’t know the dream hadn’t been a _wet_ dream.

I turned my head on the pillow and saw Hutch’s eyelashes barely flutter. I leaned in and kissed each eye, once.

He smiled a little, a real sleepy smile, without opening those pretty eyes, and mumbled, “Time to get up?”

“Nope,” I said. “Time to get _off_.” I pushed real close to him and slung a leg over his thigh. Our dicks touched, his just as wide awake as mine, and we both sighed. Nothing like that first touch, that comin’ back together. We both need it so bad.

“Gonna be late,” he whispered, but he already had a hand on my ass.

“Saturday,” I reminded him, and kissed his neck. One thing about Hutch’s desk job, at least it usually allows us our weekends.

He smiled at me through drowsy eyes. “Beautiful Saturday.”

I kissed him again, and he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. I stretched out on top of him and rubbed against him, grinding against his crotch until he started panting and grabbing at me, tryin’ to pull us closer together.

I laughed a little at that – he’s so damn impatient sometimes – and fumbled for the tube on the nightstand. I saw his eyes on me, watching as I reached for it. They were hot, real hot, but they had that shadow in them, too, that little half-worried, half-guilty look I wish I could wipe away forever.

I pushed his legs up and apart, and he scooted forward, toward me. I slicked him up real good, watching his face, smiling at him. My fingers found his sweet spot, and his head tossed on the pillow, and his cock jumped. I love seeing that, seeing how hot I can make him just with my fingers in his ass. Sometimes he calls me Magic Hands, but I wouldn’t be half as good if he didn’t let me practice so much. Besides, my hands are smaller than his and my fingers are shorter, so I figured I’d better develop my technique.

I raised myself up over him and slid in. I wanted to keep looking at him, to see his expression, but I couldn’t. It feels so good, that first thrust, that first sweet second inside Hutch’s body, that sudden tight heat around my dick, that I never can keep my eyes open. They slip closed every time. So I just listened to the sounds he made – the deep groan as I pushed in as far as I could, and the way he whispered, “Good, good” – and I concentrated on my breathing.

When I opened my eyes again he was watching me, and his mouth opened, and I knew what he was about to say, so I pulled out and shoved back in again, quick, to shut him up . He yelled, and grabbed for me, wrapping his legs tight around me, pulling me in so deep that my balls pressed up hard against his ass, and that made me yell, too. Hutch likes to give as good as he gets.

We rocked back and forth together, settling into the pace we both like, the rhythm we’ve known so long it’s hard to remember when we learned it. It hasn’t changed because I wouldn’t let it change. No way in hell Gunther was gonna get that, too.

I knew my lungs were straining, my chest was tightening, but I couldn’t feel it. I’ve learned how to not let myself feel it. It’s kind of a Zen thing, I guess; you put the hurt away somewhere, in some little locked box in your mind, while you focus on something else. I focus on Hutch’s ass clamping down on me, and Hutch’s hands gripping my forearms like he’s scared I’m gonna vanish if he lets go, and that face of his, that beautiful face with ecstasy written all over it. Man, I could walk through hell looking at that face. You think I can’t put up with a few twinges?

We finished together, or pretty close to it. I freed a hand to give his dick a stroke, and then another, to push him over, and then we collapsed into the bedclothes, breathing hard, not speaking. After a moment, he laid a hand on my chest, over my heart, over my scars. I covered the hand with mine and waited for my breathing to even out.

We were still layin’ there, holding each other, kissing a little, whispering to each other, when something bounced onto the bed and pushed its way in between us with an impatient whine.

Hutch gave a loud, melodramatic sigh. “And you swore nothing would ever come between us.”

I grabbed Spot with both hands and held on. She’s like a little greased pig; the slightest opening, and she squirts right through your hands and disappears, and the next thing you know she’s behind the couch, ripping all the stuffing out of it. “Hey,” I said, “that was just a figure of speech.”

“Your figure of speech is turning this house upside down.” Spot licked his face, and I swear, he practically giggled. He’s a real sucker for her, no matter how much he bitches about stained carpet and torn-up plants (I do try to keep her away from his plants, I really, really do, but it’s pretty damn hard when he insists on having ‘em all over the house, y’know?)

He stroked her ears and made faces at her. “Have you signed her up for those obedience classes yet?”

I shrugged. “I’ll get around to it. Hey, she’s gettin’ lots better. She hasn’t pissed on the carpet since yesterday afternoon.”

“She’s gonna be pissing on the bed if you don’t – Starsk!”

“No! Spot, no! Bad girl!” I snatched her up, jumped outta bed, and made it across the room, down the hall, through the living room, through the kitchen, and out the back door with her dribbling on me the whole damn way. We’ve got a little fenced back yard, and I set her down on the grass and leaned against the wall. I wasn’t breathing very hard, though, which made me feel kinda good, even though I had puppy pee all over my hands.

“Hey, you,” I said. “We gotta get together on this thing. Outside’s for peeing, inside’s for being a good girl, okay?”

She didn’t seem too interested in my words of wisdom. I went to the water spigot where we hook the hose up and washed my hands, and when I turned back around, she was stalking a big, fat grasshopper.

I watched her for a minute before the door opened behind me and Hutch stepped out onto the porch, wrapped in a bathrobe and wiping his hands with a paper towel. “Get the wet spot cleaned up?” I asked.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Ours or hers?”

I smiled and pointed at Spot. “Look at that.” She was still after that grasshopper, creeping toward it, so low she was almost crawling. She reminded me of those old World War II movies where the German u-boat advances on the Allied submarine without a sound of warning, and then – _whammo_.

“Run silent, run deep,” I said.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just never saw a dog do that before. She looks like a cat goin’ after a mouse.”

Hutch was staring at Spot with that fascinated expression he gets when Marlon Perkins sneaks up on an anaconda on _Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom_. “She looks like her mom when we saw her working the sheep,” he said. “That’s what Bess did, that stalking movement.”

We watched her. She came within a couple inches of the grasshopper before she stopped dead and just stared at it, her eyes never blinking. And that grasshopper couldn’t take the pressure. It jumped away, and _then_ Spot blinked, like she was coming out of a daze or something.

“She’s _scary_ ,” I told Hutch. “She stares at me all the time, too. I mean, all the time she’s not tearin’ around the house, jumpin’ on tables and climbin’ the curtains. Which is most of the time. But the rest of the time she just sits and stares at me. It’s kinda creepy.”

Hutch looked me up and down. “I don’t blame her, not if you lounge around the house like that, stud.”

I glanced down and saw not a stitch of clothing between me and the world. “Good thing we got a private back yard, huh?”

“Good thing for us, not so good for the neighbors.” He smiled and slipped both arms around me, sliding his hands down to squeeze my ass. “Just think what a lovely sight they’re being deprived of.”

God, those big hands of his. I kissed his neck. “Did you say you just put nice, clean sheets on our bed?”

He likes neck-kissing, but this time it was no dice. He grinned and said, “You’ve gotta feed your dog, and I’ve gotta run my mile. Maybe later.” He gave me a consoling pat on the ass and went back inside.

“Maybe later, huh?” I hollered after him. “Maybe later I’ll play hard to get! Maybe later I’ll have a splitting headache! Maybe later you’ll be sorry you toyed with my affections!” I could hear him laughing as he went down the hall.

I turned around and Spot was sitting behind me, staring at me. I pointed into the house. “Did you see that? That’s what we call a tease. Gorgeous, but with a heart of stone. That’s the kind you gotta watch out for.”

She cocked her head at me. I think she thinks I’m pretty decent entertainment, as long as no grasshoppers are around.

The next thing I heard was my beloved’s sweet voice raised in a yell of outrage. I ducked into the kitchen, grabbed Spot’s leash, hooked it to her collar as fast as I could – and then remembered I couldn’t take her for a walk without putting on some damn clothes first.

I sighed, and went in to face the music.

The last time I heard that note in Blondie’s voice, Spot had pooped in his jogging shoes.

 

*****

 

I’ve never had a dog before. Ma always said a city apartment was no place for an animal, Uncle Al was allergic, and after I was on my own I just never got around to it, I guess. And I woulda felt bad about leaving a dog alone so much while I was out being a cop, anyway.

When I start feeling sorry for myself, I always try to remind myself of the upside to the way things are now. I’ve got plenty of time for a dog, and Hutch and me can be together just like married people. That woulda never happened before, us living together. Even now, it scares me sometimes. I don’t like thinking about the things I know some of the guys at Metro are saying about Hutch behind his back. Not everybody knows about us; most people don’t. But word gets around, and even though I couldn’t be prouder of Hutch if he hung the moon, the more people who know, the more I worry.

Hutch doesn’t see it that way, of course. Last week he told me he was gonna march in the Gay Pride parade this summer. He was joking, which I realized a second after I nearly had a heart attack. But the thing is, he wasn’t joking by much. He’d love to march in that parade, and I know he’ll be at it, watching from the sidewalk. I’d like to go with him, but he’d probably give me a big kiss or put his hand in my hip pocket or something right in front of everybody. I can’t seem to convince him that he’s gotta be careful. It doesn’t matter anymore about me, but he’s still there, every day, surrounded by guys who might or might not bother to show up when a gay cop needs backup. Yeah, he’s mostly off the streets now, and thank God for that. But it could still happen.

I shouldn’t have even let him talk me into buying this house together. Hell, what are people supposed to think we’re doing here, him and me? But I caved on that one. I caved because I just couldn’t resist. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how good it would be and how much I wanted it. For a while it was okay because I did need some help, and it made sense for Hutch to stay with me, and if anybody asked, I said we were just renting the house because it’s a bungalow, and I couldn’t manage the stairs at my old apartment or at Venice Place, blah, blah, blah. Hutch didn’t say anything. He didn’t care if people liked it or not.

But now I don’t need a nurse, and Hutch is still with me, and he ain’t goin’ anywhere. And I love that, and I won’t ever let it change, not for anything. And I wouldn’t care who the hell knows, except I get scared for him. I get scared he’ll tell the wrong person, because he just doesn’t give a damn. He loves me, and he’s not ashamed.

Shit, that scares the fuckin’ hell outta me.

 

*****

 

She won’t be still, she just won’t. I put her in the yard, and she runs around like a maniac. I put her in the kitchen, and she keeps running, only stoppin’ long enough to pee on the floor. I put her in the living room, and she scoots under the couch and won’t come out. And she never, ever sleeps. Well, hardly ever. Aren’t babies supposed to sleep most of the time?

“Hutch! Get in here and help me!”

“Help you what?” he hollers back. He’s outside, doing yard work.

“Help me with you know who! I need to get these shots!” The _Bay City Courier_ has a Sunday feature called “Perky Pets” that features candid photos of dogs and cats doing cute stuff. They barely pay anything, but I figure it can’t hurt to get a shot with my name under it in the paper.

The hell with candid, though. I don’t have a lens fast enough to catch her being candid. These are gonna have to be staged, big time.

He stomps in, lookin’ all sweaty and disheveled and not half bad. “Can’t even handle a tiny little puppy, huh, Starsk?”

I fumble with the camera. “Shut up and go get her.”

He’s looking all around. “Where is she?”

“I dunno, last time I saw her she was under the bed, but that was thirty seconds ago. She might be in Arizona by now.”

He steps into the bedroom, whistling and calling, “Here, Spot, c’mon, girl, come on out,” and I can’t help grinning. She won’t fall for that.

A few seconds later he comes back, looking irritated. “Starsk, you’ve gotta train her. I’m not crawling under the bed every time she feels like hiding. Dogs should come when they’re called – ”

“Get some pepperoni.”

“Huh?”

“Get some pepperoni off that pizza in the fridge and wave it around till she comes out. Come on, I’m all set up here.”

The pepperoni does the trick. He comes back with Spot under one arm, nibbling at the meat.

“Now, sit down on the floor. Yeah, right there. And _hold on_ to her. Both hands, or she’ll disappear again.”

I get some pretty good shots of the two of them – Spot licking Hutch’s fingers, Hutch kissing her on top of the head, him tickling her belly, her latching onto his shirtsleeve and pulling as hard as she can till it rips. At least it’s an old shirt.

“Okay,” I say after a few minutes. “That’s enough, I guess.” I take the camera off the tripod and start to break it down.

Hutch gets to his feet with a little groan. “Now I have to take a nap. Between pulling weeds, trimming hedges, and dealing with Miss Jaws here, I’ve had it. Ow! Stop that!” He carefully removes his index finger from Spot’s mouth and sucks on it.

“It’s the pepperoni. Now she thinks you’re made of it.” He rolls his eyes at me, and I grin and haul the camera and tripod down the hall to the little spare bedroom I’ve fixed up for my darkroom.

I stay in there a while, puttering around, and when I come back out, the house is real quiet. I walk back to the living room, and there they are. Hutch is asleep on the couch, shirt off, one arm hanging down, the other hand holding Spot, who’s asleep, too, flat against his chest. I can see her little body rising and falling as he breathes. Lucky dog.

I turn around and tiptoe back down the hallway to get the camera. No way I’m missing _this_ shot.


End file.
